


we never get far

by ymorton



Series: emily/tommy [2]
Category: Crooked Media RPF
Genre: Dom/sub, F/M, Kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2019-02-18
Packaged: 2019-07-23 09:16:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16156106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: “It’s okay,” Tommy laughs. “It’s fine. I still think about it too sometimes, honestly.”She lifts her head out of her hands, face flushed.“We had a good time,” Tommy says. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”





	1. winter 2011

**Author's Note:**

> this is a companion piece to [no one man](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14902346/chapters/34515686) that takes place in 2011 and 2018. this verse would not leave me alone. 
> 
> a very sincere thank you to valencing/threeturn as always for reading this and talking about it with me. you are the best. <3 
> 
> this is 100% fake and gross and completely for my own amusement. i mean no harm in writing this. please do not show to anyone involved. THANK U!!!!!!
> 
> title from taylor swift's getaway car. is it even an emily fic if it doesn't have a tswift title?

  **Winter 2011**

Lovett’s in New York that weekend, so Emily comes over on Friday night for a drink. She leans against the counter and watches Tommy mix vodka-tonics and makes weak conversation until Tommy can barely keep himself from laughing. He fucking loves that feeling sometimes. Of inevitability. 

He lets her take a gulp of her drink, he takes a obligatory sip of his own, and then he slides his hand right up her little skirt. Fuck it. They both know why she’s there. 

“Hey,” he says, biting down a smile, cupping her between her legs.

“Hey,” she breathes.   

“Christ,” Tommy murmurs, pressing his fingers against her, watching her react. “You needed this, huh?” 

Emily tenses up like she’s ready to get offended and then she nods, shamefaced. Tommy feels that in his fucking _veins_. He needed it too. 

“You think about it at work today? Coming over here tonight?”  

“Yeah,” Emily says, breathless. “I- I had such a bad day.” 

Tommy did too. He could ask about it, commiserate a little, but instead he rolls the heel of his palm firmly against her and says, “You want me to fuck it out of you?” 

Emily’s eyes go dark and desperate. She squirms against his hand. “Yeah.” 

“That’s why you came over here, right? Not for a drink.” 

He can feel her pulsing against him, muscles working. It makes him want to shove his fingers in hard, see how much she can take, but he holds back. He traces his hand down the slit of her and taps his thumb softly against her clit. She makes a sound between her teeth and says, more of a moan than anything, “Yeah.”  

“Say please,” Tommy says. His face is starting to burn. He feels fucking alive right then, with Emily pinned and getting softer and wetter against his fingers as he strokes her. 

“God,” she gasps. “Please. Please, Tommy.” 

“Mr. Vietor,” Tommy says, breath catching in guilty excitement. He’s never asked for that before, never even thought about it. Usually when someone calls him that he laughs and says, _that’s my dad, call me Tommy_. He can’t do that anymore, can he? 

He shoves that thought down as quick as he can. Not now.

Emily lets out a whimper. “Please, Mr. Vietor.” 

It’s Tommy’s turn to shudder then. What the fuck is he doing? Katie would smack him. “Good girl,” he says, voice sounding unsteady. “Go- go to my room and take your clothes off and wait for me.”

She nods, eyes wide. 

Tommy finishes his drink in the empty kitchen, washes his hands, and then goes down the hall. 

She’s standing at the window and she turns quickly when he creaks the door open. She’s naked just like he asked, shivering a little. Tommy locks the door behind him even though Lovett’s not there. 

“Jesus,” he says, low. “Look at you.” 

Emily crosses an arm over her bare chest, still watching him with that dazed look. It’s the kind of out-of-it he only sees on a girl right after he makes her come. But he hasn’t done anything to Emily yet. She must just- like it. The way he’s talking to her. 

“Lie down on the bed,” he says. “And open your legs.”

The breath she takes at that is loud and shuddery. She does so and Tommy goes over there, stands above her and watches. She’s flushing slowly down her pale chest. Her body’s fucking amazing. 

Tommy stoops to run his hand over her little tits, nipples so hard they catch against his palm. She’s breathing hard, flat stomach heaving. 

He stands back up, adjusting himself in his jeans. “Touch yourself.” 

She blinks up at him and then puts a hand on her stomach.

“Not there,” Tommy says. He leans down again, takes her wrist and guides her hand down between her spread legs. “Let me see you touch yourself.” 

Emily chokes on a breath. Her fingers are curled in a fist. 

“Let me see what you do,” Tommy says, breath coming heavy. “When you’re alone and you want to get fucked.” 

“I don’t-“ Emily lets out a shaky breath. “I don’t usually, um.” 

“You don’t finger yourself?” 

Emily shuts her eyes. She’s so red. “Not really.” 

“Why not?” 

Emily swallows, throat bobbing. “It doesn’t- it doesn’t, like-“ 

“It’s not enough,” Tommy says over her, hit with a flash of inspiration. “It’s not enough for you, right?” 

He puts his hand over her fist, slowly spreads out her fingers. “You need more. Don’t you.” 

Emily nods, eyelids fluttering. Her mouth opens when Tommy moves her hand down, skims her thumb against her clit. 

“You need more,” he says again, mesmerized watching it. “You need someone else.” 

“Yeah,” Emily groans, eyes closed. “Yes, Mr. Vietor.” 

He slides his thumb down between her lips and laughs. She’s so slick his thumb almost slips inside. 

“Jesus,” he says. “You’re fucking dripping.” 

Emily’s face is twisted like she’s pained. “Please.” 

“Look what you did.” He takes his fingers out to show her shiny they are. “I barely touched you and you’re fucking dripping.” 

“Please,” she says again. 

“Did you think about this today? At work?” 

“Yes,” Emily whispers. Her hips rock up and Tommy presses her back down with the flat of his hand between her legs. He can feel her heartbeat. 

“Did you get wet thinking about it?” 

Emily’s brow furrows and her eyes close. “Yes,” she mumbles. 

“Tell me what you thought about.” 

Emily swallows thickly. 

“You,” she says. 

Tommy could listen to her say that a couple dozen more times. He really fucking needed to hear that. 

“Me?” 

“Yes, Mr. Vietor." 

“You thought about coming to see me?” 

“Yes, Mr. Vietor,” she says, dreamy this time, face going slack. Her cunt’s so hot under Tommy’s hand. 

“And what did you want from me?” Tommy spreads her open with two fingers. “Did you want me to do something with this?” 

“Please,” she gasps. “Please.” 

“Please what? Ask me.” 

She’s quivering. “Please- please fuck it. Please fuck me.” 

Jesus Christ. Tommy wants to so bad. He keeps his hand still for a long minute and she squirms up against it impatiently. 

“ _Please_ ,” she says, shifting on the bed. “Please, Mr. Vietor.” 

He grabs her hand and puts it over herself, shoves down. 

“Stretch yourself out for me,” he says, choked from how hard he is. 

He watches as she starts to touch herself, and then rolls off the bed to pull his clothes off. His heart’s pounding with anticipation, so fast he feels almost queasy. What the hell is he even doing? Katie would have stopped him by now. She would have sat up and pushed him away and said _are you fucking kidding me, Tommy_? 

Tommy can’t think about her right now. He can’t. He draws in a deep, steadying breath and grabs a condom out of his sock drawer. 

When he turns Emily has her mouth open and her eyes closed and her hand between her legs, little tits bouncing as she fingers herself. She looks like porn. She looks fucking incredible. 

She opens her eyes and catches his gaze. 

“Mr. Vietor,” she chokes, squeezing her thighs tight around her hand. “Please.”

She looks so good.

“Tell me what you want,” Tommy says. 

“You,” she says, glassy-eyed, hips shifting. 

“Again,” Tommy breathes, kneeing onto the bed. 

“ _You_ ,” she gasps, reaching for him. 

She wants him. She- she- Tommy lifts her hips and pushes into her and they both groan. She wants him and he wants her. Who gives a fuck what Katie would have said. 

“This is what you were thinking about, huh?” Tommy says, strained as he fucks deep inside her. 

She’s clutching his hips hard, nails digging into his ass. “Yeah,” she moans. 

“You needed it.” 

She moans again, wordless, clenching down around his dick. She’s so fucking loud, like she hasn’t learned how to control herself yet. Thank god Lovett’s out of town. 

“That’s so hot,” Tommy groans, moving faster. “Sitting at work thinking about this.” 

“Yes,” Emily breathes, reaching a hand behind herself to grip the headboard. 

“Does everyone at work know you’re a slut?” Tommy says close against her ear, rolling his hips. “Do they know you sit at your desk thinking about getting fucked all day?” 

“Oh god, please,” Emily whimpers. “Mr. Vietor, please.” 

She needs to stop saying that. It makes Tommy crazy. He starts fucking her harder, clamps a hand over her wrist. Her back arches and she starts making high, desperate sounds in the back of her throat, like she’s about to come just from his dick inside her. What a fucking- “Slut,” Tommy chokes out. “You’re so hot.” 

Her noises get higher and she grabs the headboard with both hands. 

“Tell me what you are,” he says, against her ear, clenching his jaw trying not to come. “Say what you are.” 

Emily lets go of the headboard to grab Tommy’s shoulder. “Slut,” she gasps, face blissful. “I’m a slut.” 

“Yes, fuck. _Fuck._ ” Tommy’s gonna come. She feels so fucking good. 

“I’m a fucking- slut.” She sobs out a breath. “I’m- I’m a-“ 

It’s lost as she comes, pulsing around him. Tommy watches her face until his own orgasm hits. He rides it out inside her and then pulls out, pulls himself together. 

She’s still twitching when he drags her legs over the edge of the bed and kneels on the floor and licks inside her. He keeps his head down and his eyes shut until she’s whimpering for him to stop. 

When he lifts his head she has her eyes shut tight and her stomach is heaving. She’s shivering like she wants to close her legs, but she doesn’t. 

Tommy wipes his face on the sheets and says hoarsely, “You want me to keep going?” 

She throws her arm over her face and doesn’t say anything. 

“Hey.” Tommy puts a hand on her knee and she jumps, over-sensitive. “Emily.” 

She shakes her head. 

“You want to come again?” Tommy says, lower. He slides his palms up the insides of her thighs, pressing her legs open. 

The sound she makes isn’t even close to words. She strains against Tommy’s grip.

“Can’t,” she chokes out. 

Christ, she sounds wrecked. Her cunt is pink and raw, wet from being fucked and licked. He puts his hand over it, presses down very gently. 

“You sure you don’t want more?” 

“Please,” she whimpers. “I can’t.” 

He lets go and she pulls away, backing up onto the bed, legs closing. 

“You good?”  

“Yeah,” she says unsteadily. She doesn’t sound good. She sounds like she’s about to cry. Fuck, Tommy hopes she doesn’t cry. 

He stands up and immediately feels awkward, like he’s looming over her. “You- you want some water?” 

“Actually can I use your bathroom?” she asks, voice starting to break as she shoves herself off the bed and fumbles for her clothes. 

“Of course. You know where it is, right?” 

She nods and slips outside. 

\---

She’s in there for a while. Tommy checks his emails, responds to a few, tries to ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut. _She never told me to stop_ , he thinks, and a voice in his head that sounds unsettlingly like Katie says back, _are you sure_? 

Finally his bedroom door creaks open. Emily’s in her shirt and underwear, legs bare, face pink and squeaky clean. She gives him a tight smile. 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s cool.” 

Emily nods, crossing an arm over her chest. She goes over to his dresser, pulling her hair up in a ponytail. 

“Who is this?” 

Tommy looks up. She’s holding his framed photo from the inauguration, the one of him and Katie and the President. 

“That’s Barack Obama, the president of the United States,” he says, deadpan, and she rolls her eyes. 

“Funny. Is that your sister?” 

“No.” Tommy reaches for his boxers. “Actually that’s my ex.” 

“Oh,” she says softly. She studies the picture again. Tommy feels itchy watching her. 

“What’s her name?” 

_Why the fuck would you ask me that?_ Tommy thinks. Out loud he says, “Katie.” 

She nods a few times. 

“We were engaged,” Tommy says. He immediately regrets it. It’s none of her business. 

Emily looks up. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” 

“When did you, uh, break up?” 

It depends, doesn’t it. Should Tommy say last December when they officially broke their engagement, or January when they fucked for the last time, or February when she slept over for a week after his dad took a turn for the worse? He coughs and says, “Uh, about a year ago.” 

“Oh.” Emily sets the picture down on his dresser. “She’s pretty.” 

Tommy looks at her and she goes red. “Sorry. That was a weird thing to say.” 

“I have to work tomorrow, so-“ 

She nods and fumbles for her skirt. “I, uh. Yeah. Me too. I should get home.” 

“You want me to call you a cab?” 

“No, it’s fine. I’m pretty close to here.” 

“It’s late, let me call. This neighborhood can get sketchy.” 

She sniffs in hard, tightens her ponytail. “Okay. Thanks.” 

They wait for the cab in the kitchen. Tommy feels tongue-tied and dumb, the exact opposite of how he felt an hour ago when he was putting his hand up her skirt. This is the part he sucks at. 

Emily studies the photos on the refrigerator, zipping her jacket up to her chin. 

“Is that your roommate?” she says, pointing. 

Tommy cranes over to see. It’s a picture of Lovett with his parents at the inauguration, stuck to the fridge with a Hillary ’08 magnet because Lovett's a little shit. “Yeah.” 

“Does he work in the White House too?” 

“Yeah. He’s a junior speechwriter.” 

“Oh.” Emily crosses an arm over her chest. “Was he pissed at you for that time he walked in on us?” 

Tommy laughs. “Nah. He was fine. He’s gay, so. It was no big deal.” 

“Your roommate’s gay?” 

Tommy thinks about Lovett’s dark eyes on his, while Emily was on her knees. He curls his fingers around the countertop, bracing himself. “Yeah.” 

“Oh. That’s cool.” She looks at the picture again, unzipping her jacket and then zipping it again. 

“So, uh, when do you go back to school?” 

“Couple weeks,” Emily says. “My internship ends next Friday, actually.” 

“Cool. We should hang out before then. If you want.” 

She chews her bottom lip, still staring at the photo. Then she turns and smiles tightly at Tommy. “Yeah. Sure.” 

Something about it is cold and Tommy’s face flushes hot. He turns away. 

“The cab’s probably here,” he says. He reaches for his wallet on the counter and pulls out a twenty. “That should cover it.” 

“I got it,” Emily says. 

“It’s fine.” 

“I got it,” she says again, firmer. "It's fine." 

“Okay, thanks,” Tommy says, like an idiot. “Uhh, have a good night.” 

“Good night,” she says quietly, and she slips out the door. 

 


	2. winter 2018

** Winter 2018 **

“Guys,” Tommy laughs, when Jon orders another bottle of red at the restaurant. “We have to save some for tomorrow. Shouldn’t we get back to the house?” 

“We’ll be _fine_ ,” Hanna says, draining her glass in preparation. “C’mon, babe, wine is the entire point of this weekend. No lectures.” 

“If we miss the bus to the vineyard tomorrow because you guys are hungover, I swear to God-” 

“We’re not gonna miss the bus,” Jon says, rolling his eyes. He fills Tommy’s glass with the last drips from the empty bottle. “Live a little, Vietor.”

“If we miss the bus, we miss the bus,” Hanna says calmly. “The world won’t end. It doesn’t leave til ten anyway.”

Tommy paid the non-refundable deposit on the tour and no one’s Cashapped him their share yet, so the world might end a _little_ , but he’s been with Hanna long enough now that he knows when to shut up.

“Fine,” he says, picking up his glass. “Screw it. Let’s do this.”

They all cheer when he knocks it back, and then the next bottle arrives, and Tommy stops worrying and starts drinking in earnest. It’s really good wine. By the time Jon pays the check, he’s feeling warm and fuzzy and extremely happy to be out of LA.

“Okay,” Jon says, swaying on the curb after dinner, digging for his keys in his jeans pocket. “We ready to go? Em, do you have the valet ticket?” 

Hanna reaches for Tommy’s hand and squeezes hard. Tommy looks down at her.

“What?”

She leans up to say quietly in his ear, “Can we Uber back? I don’t wanna drive with Jon.”

“Oh, c’mon. He’s fine.”

She gives him a look. “Tommy, please.”

Tommy heaves a sigh. “Okay, fine. I’ll get an Uber.”

“Thank you.” Hanna kisses his arm. “I’m gonna go sit down for a minute. These shoes are killing me.”

\---

He finds Jon studying his phone intently, and waves his hand in front of it until Jon looks up. 

“Hey.” 

“Hey, so I think we’re gonna grab an Uber.” 

“What?” Jon laughs. “Tommy, I’m fine.” 

“I know you are.” 

“I only had like three or four glasses. Over a two hour dinner, that’s like-“ 

“Dude, I _know_.” Tommy laughs and squeezes his shoulders. “But you know how Hanna gets.” 

“How ‘bout I take a few minutes to sober up?” 

Tommy has absolutely no desire to take that compromise back to Hanna. Compromises are not her strong suit. “I think we’re just gonna go on our own. Sorry.” 

“Jesus, am I that bad of a driver?” 

“Shut up, dude. We’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” 

Jon sighs. “Fine. I’m gonna run to the bathroom.”

"I'll Cashapp you for tonight." 

He’s looking around for Hanna when Emily says, “Hey, they’re bringing the car around.” 

“You know, I think we’re gonna grab an Uber.” 

Emily looks confused for a second, and then she rolls her eyes. “Oh my god. Jon’s _fine_.” 

“I know, I know-“ 

“He’s barely even tipsy.” 

“I know. But- you know.” 

They share a look and Emily laughs, peeking behind her for Hanna. 

“Point taken,” she says, hugging her denim jacket tight around her shoulders. “Hey, you know what I was just thinking about?” 

“What?” 

“How weird it is that we, like. Hooked up. Back in DC.” She laughs. “Isn’t it weird?”

Tommy puts his phone in his pocket. “It _is_ kinda weird.”

“I haven’t thought about that in forever.”

“What reminded you?” 

She glances at him quickly. “Nothing really. Just thought about it.”

“God. Good times.” He snorts. “Well, I don’t know. Were they?”

“They weren’t _great_.”

“Yeah, they weren’t.” 

“Did you ever think, back then, that you’d be on vacation with me in seven years?” She grins up at him. “In wine country? With my husband and your fiancée?”

“Gotta admit, I didn’t see that coming.”

“Me neither.” She shrugs. “Guess you can’t get rid of me.”

“More like _you_ can’t get rid of _me_.” Tommy snorts. “Hopefully I’m slightly less terrible company than I was back then.”

“Maybe slightly.” Emily laughs when he claps a hand over his heart, mock-devastated. “Hanna’s a big help in that department. She’s really whipped you into shape. You can almost carry on a conversation now.”

“Aw, thanks, Em.”

Emily looks behind her again, and then rocks forward on her heels and says, “So do you ever, like, do that kind of stuff with her? The kind of stuff we, uh, we did when we hooked up?”

“What stuff?”

“C’mon.” She laughs nervously. “You know what I mean.”

“Do I?”

“You know,” she says. “The kind of pushy stuff.”

Tommy arches an eyebrow. “Oh, _that_ stuff.”

She rolls her eyes and kicks at his foot.

“No, we don’t,” Tommy says. “Hanna’s, you know. She’s not that kind of girl.”

Emily narrows her eyes. “And I am?”

“Em. You know that’s not what I meant. She’s just not into that kind of stuff.” He laughs, shoving her shoulders gently. “Why, do you and Jon-”

“God no,” she says quickly. She puts on a mocking voice. “I guess he’s just not that kind of guy.”  

“He really isn’t,” Tommy agrees readily. “He couldn’t hurt a fly.” 

Emily laughs.

“You didn’t _hurt_ me,” she says. “That makes it sound so dramatic.”

Tommy looks at her pink face. It’s not true. He did hurt her. She wanted it bad, though.

He wonders if she ever still wants it a little bit. Not _Tommy_ , specifically, he’s not a lunatic, but like- that kind of stuff. To be hurt.

“Sure,” he says. He looks away, looks for Hanna. “We should probably get back.”

“Yeah,” she says, gaze dipping. “Wouldn’t wanna miss the bus. Where the fuck is Jon?”

“Bathroom, I think. I better go find Hanna. Good night, Em.”

“Night, Tommy,” she says quietly.

He finds Hanna on the bench by the valet, eyes closed. He sits and slides an arm around her, puts his cheek against her head.

“I’m tired.”

“You’re drunk,” Hanna says fondly, twisting her head to kiss the side of his mouth.

“I’m not _drunk_ ,” Tommy says. He snorts into her hair. “Okay, I’m a little drunk. But there’s no way I’m missing that bus tomorrow.”

“We won’t.” 

Emily’s standing at the curb, shoulders hunched against the breeze. She’s staring down at her phone. Tommy watches her, and then watches Jon come up behind her, touching the small of her back. She looks up at him, smiling. She still smiles at Jon like that every time, like it’s the first time they met. Tommy remembers that, looking over at them in the corner of the bar and seeing her bright eyes.

He remembers other stuff too. Even though he shouldn’t. He puts his nose in Hanna’s soft hair and says, “Let’s go home.”

“Did you get the Uber?”

“Oh shit, I forgot. Sorry.” He unlocks his phone with his thumb and hands it to her. “Will you do it? I’m just gonna take a little nap on your head.”

She snorts. “Okay, babe.”

He fake-snores, closing his eyes. When he opens them again, Emily’s getting into the car, stepping carefully in her pointy heels. Jon looks over at them and waves.

“We could still take you guys!” he calls. “I swear to God I’m not drunk, Han!”

“We’re good!” Tommy calls back, as Hanna lets out an uncomfortable laugh and waves. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

As soon as they pull off, Hanna punches Tommy’s shoulder. “What did you say to him?”

“Nothing!” Tommy protests, laughing.

She glares up at him. She’d be terrifying if she weren’t so tiny.

“Don’t be mad.” Tommy wraps his arms around her, rocks her back and forth. “I just expressed how concerned you are about safety.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“I know. I’m the worst.”

“You _are_.” She breathes a laugh and puts her cheek against his shoulder. “Where’s the stupid Uber?”

Tommy takes a deep inhale of her hair. How does it always smell so good? “It’s coming.”

He feels her hand in his pocket, grabbing his phone.

“Two minutes,” she reports, sounding sleepy. “It’s a black Subaru Outback.”

Tommy hums and shuts his eyes. “Sounds good.” 

\---

They make the bus in the morning, early enough to stop for coffee first. By noon everyone’s tipsy, and by four they’re drunk and short-tempered and tired. Hanna has a headache, keeps digging her little fist into Tommy’s thigh every time he talks too loud on the ride back, and Emily just sits and looks quietly out the window, eyes glazed over. 

Emily and Jon and Tommy manage to rally that night but Hanna stays back, still complaining of her head. They head to some bar Emily found on Yelp that has live music and a weird modern Western theme. All the bartenders are wearing skinny jeans and cowboy boots. Tommy hates it on sight, but he goes in anyway, because he’s a good sport. 

He and Emily belly up to the bar. Emily studies the little drink menu, looking unimpressed. She sets it down and says, “After all that wine, you know what I’m ready for?” 

“An extremely large glass of water?” Tommy suggests, leaning on the bar. “Some ibuprofen? French fries? Fuck, I could go for some fries. Does this place have food?” 

“No, I want hard alcohol. I want vodka.” 

Tommy groans. “Are you serious?” 

“C’mon, have a drink with me. It’s not weird if we both do it. C’mon.” 

“I’m not taking a shot of vodka. I’m 37 years old.”  

“Not a _shot_. I'm not an animal.” Emily leans over the bar to beckon for the bartender. He comes in a heartbeat, of course, grinning at her.

“What can I get you?”

“Two vodka-tonics, please,” Emily says, beaming at him. "With lemon." 

His eyes dip to her wedding ring and the smile drops off his face. “We don’t really do vodka here. Have you checked out the drink menu? We have over twenty varieties of bourbon, I could recommend something kinda light and refreshing if that’s what you’re going for-”

“So you like, don’t have a bottle of vodka in this entire establishment?” Emily says, head tilting like she’s confused.

“Well, of course we do, we just don’t-“

“So are you able to make a vodka tonic? Cuz I just really feel like a vodka tonic.”

The bartender smiles at her, meanly. “Sure I can.”

“Thank you sooo much.”

“Can I see your ID?”

"Oh- shit.” Emily looks at Tommy, wincing. “I left it at the house.”

Tommy laughs under his breath. “I’ll get them,” he says, digging out his license. The man doesn’t even look at it, just gives him an unimpressed onceover and turns to make their drinks. He probably thinks Tommy’s the one she’s married to.

They cheers and take a deep sip each. Tommy wrinkles his nose.

“Vodka is always gonna taste like my twenties to me. I just think no one should have to drink it after a certain age.”

“God.” Emily smiles to herself. “You’re such a grandpa.”

“Except for those drinks at your wedding. Those vodka-blueberry things were amazing. I think I had like eight.”

“Those were so good. Oh my god, I want one of those right _now_. Why don’t they have those at this stupid bar?” Emily twists around on her stool, slurping her drink. “Speaking of, where’s my husband?”

“Some dude started talking at him about Trump.”

“Ohh, so I won’t see him for an hour. Cool.” She rolls her eyes and turns back to the bar, almost slipping off her seat. She rights herself and says, “So, you know what I was thinking today?”

“What?”

“I have advice for you. I have _marital advice_. Or fiancée advice. Whatever.”

Tommy laughs into his drink. “Spill it.”

“Okay. You should - you should do that stuff with Hanna. Stuff like we did.” She looks around to check no one’s listening and then tucks her hair behind her ear and leans in closer. “I have a theory that she would like it.”

“What?”

“You know. _Pushy stuff._ ” Emily snorts. “How do you know she doesn’t like it if you haven’t tried? I mean like, ask her first, obviously, but you never know. Hanna could have hidden kinky depths. Underneath that beautiful exterior.”

Tommy narrows his eyes at her. “You’re still drunk.”

“I _am_ still drunk,” she admits. “And I ate an edible at the last winery so I’m like, fucked up.”

“Jesus Christ. Are you serious?”

She looks proud of herself. “Yep.”

“Does Jon know about this?”

She scoffs. “He’s not my- my keeper. I’m allowed to get high. It’s legal.”

“Fair enough. But like, share next time, I would’ve had one.”

“Yeah right,” she scoffs. “Hanna wouldn't let you. Which brings me back to what I was saying."

“I told you last night, she doesn’t go for that kind of stuff.”

“Have you asked her?” 

Tommy snorts. “C’mon, Em. You know Hanna. She gets mad if I like, accidentally mess up her hair when we’re in bed.” 

“Okay, true. Our biggest fight as roommates was when I kept leaving my yogurt spoon in the sink every morning without washing it.” 

Tommy laughs. “Oh shit. She hates the smell of yogurt.”

“I know! She’s very particular.” 

“She really is.” Tommy smiles to himself and starts digging for his phone. He should text her, see how her headache’s doing. See if she wants him to bring anything back to the Airbnb. 

Emily touches his wrist and says, “I’m serious, though, Tommy.” 

“Hmm?” 

“It was hot and you were like, good at it, so. You should try.” 

Tommy laughs. “It was hot? Really? I feel like I was a total asshole back then.”

“Well yeah, but like.” Emily fiddles with the straw in her drink. “I don’t know. That was the hot part.” 

Tommy’s silent for a second and she covers her face with both hands. “God, sorry. That came out weird.” 

“It’s okay,” Tommy laughs. “It’s fine. I still think about it too sometimes, honestly.” 

She lifts her head out of her hands, face flushed. 

“We had a good time,” Tommy says. He almost reaches out to brush her hair off her face but that probably wouldn’t be the best call. “There’s nothing wrong with that. You hadn’t even met Jon.” 

“I know,” she groans. “But I still feel bad sometimes. Is that weird?” 

Tommy glances over his shoulder. 

“Have you told him?” he says. “Uh, about that? About what happened?” 

“Fuck no,” Emily says emphatically. “That is not a conversation I want to have. Like, I get that it’s okay but it’s still weird. It wouldn’t be weird if it was someone random, but like. It’s _you_.” 

She looks up at him, suspiciously. “Wait, did you tell him? Like, before we got together?” 

“That I was hooking up with a college intern? Nah, somehow I kept that one to myself.” Tommy huffs a laugh. “No offense.” 

“None taken.” 

“Plus, can you imagine Jon keeping that to himself for seven years? The man cannot tell a lie.” 

“True.” Emily heaves a sigh. “Maybe you could teach him.” 

“What, how to lie? What are you implying?” 

“No.” Emily bites her lip and looks up at him. “How to, like. You know. Do that kind of stuff.” 

Tommy’s heart rate picks up, just a little. He reaches for his drink. “You want me to teach Jon how to be an asshole in bed.” 

She grins. 

“How would that conversation even go down?” 

“Or - or at least how to be something less than a saint.” Emily sips her drink and crunches down on an ice cube. “We tried it, you know. Roleplay. Like, the whole sexy stranger thing. Meeting in a bar.” 

Tommy looks over at her. “Seriously?” 

“Jon’s a really bad actor.” 

“Holy shit, I bet. That’s hilarious.” 

“Yeah. It was a disaster.” She giggles. “I tried to get him to be like, _slightly_ mean. He was all like, _I love you too much to do that to you_.” 

Tommy laughs. Her Jon voice is spot on. “Of course.” 

“Right?” She sighs. “Like we get it, you’re a good guy. Relax.”

She reaches for her drink and Tommy guides the glass gently away from her. 

“Maybe you’re good. We’ve all had a lot to drink today.” 

“You’re not my fucking keeper either, Tommy.” Emily doesn’t reach for it again, though. She stares at the bartop, suddenly serious. “Do you think I’m an asshole? For asking Jon to do that?” 

“Of course not.” 

“He said it made him uncomfortable. I wasn’t trying to make him uncomfortable.” 

Jesus, what did she ask him for? Did she ask him to hit her or something? Tommy never even did that. 

“I’m sure you were fine, Em. It’s okay to be into that kind of stuff. It’s not a crime.” 

“But it _is_. Cuz feminism.” She slumps her chin onto her palm. “S’not _feminist_ to ask your husband to- to call you mean stuff. Or whatever.”  

Tommy’s mouth curls up at the edge, involuntarily. So that’s what she asked for. 

“You know, not everything is political.”  

She scoffs. “Oh, right. Right. That’s hilarious coming from you. And you know how Jon is. Everything’s political to him.” 

Tommy shrugs in agreement. “He cares about you.” 

“He can care about me and still, like-” Emily lets out a loud breath. “Whatever. I don’t even know why I’m talking about this.” 

“Probably because you’re really fucking high.” Tommy laughs. “C’mon, did you really think Jon was gonna go for that? I swear to God he still has a crisis of conscience every time he swears on the pod. He’s not gonna call you a-“ 

He stops and laughs, rubbing his hands over his face. Careful, Tommy. 

“A what?” Emily says. She laughs as she leans in, bright-eyed. “What am I, Tommy?” 

He snorts. “Shut up.” 

“Nooo, tell me. Tell me what I am. C’mon, you were gonna say something.” 

_Christ_. She never fucking stops. Tommy’s ears are getting red. He says, low, “You know exactly what the fuck you are.” 

Emily’s intake of breath is audible and she shifts closer on her barstool, legs spreading. She’s wearing a tiny little dress just like she always used to, that winter in DC. That’s one of the things Tommy remembers the clearest. How smooth and cold her bare legs were, all the time. 

“Tell me,” she whispers. “Tommy, tell me. Please.”  

Tommy wants to. 

“Em,” he says, clenching his fingers on the bartop. “You’re fucked up.” 

“Come on.” Her voice breaks, frustrated. She doesn’t touch him but she’s so close he can smell her. 

“You need to get to bed. We both need to get to bed.” Tommy digs in his pocket for a few twenties and drops them on the bar as fast as he can. “I’ll get your drink-“ 

“Tommy, please,” Emily breathes, and then, even lower- “Mr. Vietor.” 

Tommy slides off his barstool, heart pounding. “Get to bed, Emily.” 

He leaves her there alone. His face is sweating. Jon’s at a booth by the door, still deep in conversation with a group of guys he definitely didn’t know before he walked in that night. They’re hanging onto his every word. 

“Hey,” Tommy says as he passes, catching Jon’s eye. “Emily’s at the bar.” 

Jon looks in her direction and then back at Tommy. “You leaving?” 

“I think so. It’s hot in here.” Tommy gives him a wave and ducks out of the door. It’s cooler outside and he lets out a shaky breath, composing himself before he pulls out his phone. 

_Coming back now_ , he sends to Hanna, and he starts walking. 

She’s reading in bed when he gets back, knees up under the covers, hair damp and curling dark on the white pillows. His chest loosens with relief and he leans over the bed to kiss her.

“Oh god,” she laughs, pulling back and adjusting her glasses. “You smell like booze. And I just got over my headache.” 

Tommy groans. “Sorry.” 

“Go brush your teeth and come back to bed.” Hanna tucks her hair neatly behind her ears and goes back to her book. Tommy watches her from the doorway to the bathroom until she looks up and rolls her eyes. 

“ _Go_.” 

“I’m _going_ ,” Tommy breathes. 

He was right, back there, when he told Emily that Hanna would never go for that kind of stuff. And thank fucking God she wouldn’t. Thank God. Hanna needs to be the person she is so that Tommy can be the person he is now. He draws in a shaky breath and tries not to look at himself in the mirror. 

When he comes out of the bathroom Hanna holds up his phone. 

“Emily texted you,” she says absently. His heart stops until he sees it’s just his lockscreen and then he feels an abrupt rush of anger. Why the hell should he feel guilty when he didn’t do anything? 

He takes the phone from her and sits on the edge of the bed. 

_I am so sorry please jsut forget everything I said_ , the text says. 

Tommy bites the inside of his cheek hard. 

“Everything okay?” Hanna says from behind him. Tommy straightens up. 

“Yep. I think they’re heading back now.” 

She hums. “Okay.” 

Another text pops up. _Im just so fucing high please just dont tell hanna . will never happen again. Please_

Tommy stares at his phone, mind racing. Finally he sends back, _I won’t. Get some sleep._

He deletes all three messages and sets his phone on the nightstand. 

“Hey,” Hanna says sleepily, reaching out to touch Tommy’s back. “Can you turn the lamp off?” 

Tommy reaches over to twist the knob, and silently gets into bed. 

Hanna pulls at him until he rolls over, front against her back. She settles back into him with a happy sigh, pulling his arm around her, and he closes his eyes, tries to let himself relax. He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything wrong. 

“Good night,” she mumbles, half-asleep. 

“Good night,” Tommy says, squeezing her hand and letting go. 

\---

Emily doesn’t take her sunglasses off once at breakfast the next day. Jon thinks it’s hilarious, keeps making jokes about what a diva she is, and Tommy has to force himself to laugh even though he doesn’t want to. She puts her head down on Hanna’s shoulder at one point and Hanna clucks and strokes her hair. 

“Should’ve stayed in with me, Em,” she says. “I had a _great_ night. I lit a candle, I took a bath, I finished that book for book club next week-“

“ _Shit_. I haven’t even started it.” 

“It’s pretty good. I can tell you about it on the drive back if you want.” 

Emily smiles against Hanna’s shoulder. Tommy looks down at his plate. 

“Okay,” Tommy says when they’re finished, rolling his shoulders as they head out into the sunshine. “Are we heading back to the house? Should we just walk? That Uber ride was like three minutes, it can’t be far.” 

Emily groans and Jon laughs, rubbing her back.

“I’m sorry, but I kinda love when you’re hungover,” he says fondly. “You’re like a grumpy old man.” 

She buries her face in his chest and he kisses her head. “Do you need some Pedialyte? Get this, Tommy, Emily used to drink Pedialyte for a hangover in college. Like, the medicine for children.” 

“Oh, we did that too.” 

“Seriously?” Jon snorts. “How’d I never hear about that?” 

“It’s good after you throw up,” Tommy says. “Gotta replace those electrolytes.” 

“Well then Emily definitely needs some,” Jon laughs. “We’ve had a rough morning.” 

Emily pulls away from him. “Jon.” 

“What? C’mon, we’re all friends here. I once saw Tommy puke in a potted plant in a hotel ballroom, like, _right_ in front of Joe Biden.”

Tommy cracks up. “Oh fuck, I forgot about that. Was that in ’08 or 2012?” 

“2012, I think, which makes it worse.” 

Hanna comes out of the restaurant, shaking her wet hands. 

“Sorry, guys,” she says, sliding her sunglasses down over her eyes. “There was a line. God, should we just walk back? It’s so nice out.” 

“Hey, that’s what I said.” Tommy puts an arm around her, abruptly fond. “Great minds.” 

Hanna beams at him and then her face falls. “Oh, Em, I forgot you’re hungover. We can totally call an Uber.” 

“No, I’m good,” Emily says hoarsely. 

Jon squeezes her shoulder. “You sure?” 

“I’m fine.” Emily lifts off her sunglasses and forces a smile at them like she’s giving them proof of life. Her eyes are bloodshot. “Let’s walk, it’s fine.” 

\---

The two of them end up in the back, ambling along with Hanna and Jon a half block ahead. Tommy’s a little hungover too, in that slow, insidious way he’s been feeling every time he has more than two drinks lately. 

“So, Tommy,” Emily says, and her voice wobbles. “I, uh- fuck. One sec.” 

She coughs into her hand, loud and harsh like she’s about to retch. Tommy stops walking. 

“You okay?”   
  
“Yeah,” she gasps, pushing her sunglasses up. Her eyes are watering. “Ugh. Sorry.”

“Should I call a car?”

“No, god. I’m fine.”

Tommy looks up and sees Jon glancing back at them.

“We’re good,” he calls. “Keep going, we’ll catch up.”  


“Thanks,” Emily mumbles, wiping her mouth. 

“No problem.”

Emily coughs again, quieter, and looks up at him.

“So what I was going to say is, I’m really sorry about last night.”

Tommy checks on Jon and Hanna, automatically. They’re still walking. “Hey, it’s no big deal. Seriously. It’s fine.” 

“No it’s not.” She sniffs hard. “I was really crossfaded but that’s no excuse. And I’m really sorry. I have no idea why I-” 

Her voice cracks and she looks away, gnawing the inside of her cheek like she’s trying to keep from sobbing. 

“Let’s call it even,” Tommy says. She looks up at him, doubtful. “Remember when I hit on you at that party in DC? Right when you guys started dating?”

She starts to smile a little. “You were such an idiot.”

“Then we’re both idiots,” Tommy says. “The real question is how the fuck did we manage to bag such good people?”

Emily laughs bitterly. “I have no idea.” She rubs a hand over her dripping nose, rolling her eyes at herself. “Shit.”

Tommy offers her his sleeve to wipe her nose and she laughs. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Emily bites her lip. “You’re not gonna tell Jon, are you?”

Tommy looks up even though Jon’s long gone by now.

“No,” he says. “Don’t worry.”

Emily stares at him balefully.

“I love him,” she says, choking up. “And- and last night had nothing to do with-”

“Emily. I know. Don’t worry.” Tommy’s not sure if he knows, but he needs her to stop. 

Emily nods.

“Let’s just forget about it,” Tommy says. It feels like he’s talking about more than just last night. “It never happened.”

“Okay,” Emily says, forcing a watery smile. She slides her sunglasses down but Tommy can still see her mouth, tight and unhappy. “Never happened.”


	3. emily

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this doesn't deserve to be a new work soooo here it is.
> 
> please, GOD, don't tell anyone about this absolute nonsense. it means literally nothing about the real people involved. thank you!
> 
> -

** winter 2019  **

Their flight to Hawaii leaves four hours late and it’s so turbulent Jon goes white and starts praying under his breath. They land at 10PM, two full hours after the Valentine’s Day rez Emily made for the steakhouse at their resort, so dinner is a snack pack shared on the plane and the last of a bag of trail mix in Jon’s backpack. By the time they get in a cab they’re both exhausted, quiet as they pull onto the highway. Emily looks out the window, eyes blurry from the dry air on the plane. Her contacts are acting up and her glasses are in her backpack in the trunk of the cab. She sighs.   
  
From across the backseat, Jon reaches for her hand. “Well, that kinda sucked.”

She huffs a laugh. “I’m so tired.” 

“Me too.” Jon laces their fingers together. “So glad we’re here though.” 

“I’ll be glad when I’m sipping a mai tai tomorrow at the pool.”

He laughs and squeezes her hand. “Love you.”

“Love you,” Emily says, looking out the window again. It’s pitch black. She unrolls the window a fraction so she can smell the ocean.

She wants to go straight to bed when they get there but apparently Jon called ahead and set up some kind of romantic welcome.

“Honestly, I didn’t know it was gonna be this intense,” he says under his breath as they’re being led to their table. “You want to bail?”

“We can’t,” Emily hisses, just as a Hawaiian guy puts a lei over her neck, grinning at her.

Jon winces and accepts his lei. “I’m sorry-”

“Whatever,” she says, smiling tightly as the guy puts a drink in her hand, something bright pink with a giant wedge of pineapple on the edge of the glass. “Thank you so much!”

“Aloha!” he says in response, and she nods, taking a sip. Holy shit, it’s _strong_. She starts coughing and Jon snorts from across the table.

“What’s in this?” he says, grinning at her conspiratorially with his drink held up to his mouth. “Like, are we allowed to ask or do we just need to drink it?”

She’s not really in the mood to do this with him. She forces a laugh and says, “Let’s just- drink enough so we can leave without being rude.”

Jon nods and takes a gulp, making a face. 

Finally they make it to their room. Emily goes to pee and when she comes back Jon’s on the bed in his boxers, fumbling with a condom. He looks up at her, all innocent. 

“You want to?” 

Does she? She’s tired but she can rally. She is _known_ for her ability to rally. She smiles at him. He looks so- dumb sitting there in his underwear, face red from their mystery drink, trying and failing to open a condom. She loves him. It’s Valentine’s Day.

“Yeah,” she says, unzipping her jeans. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

\---

“Oh, my god,” she moans. “Yeah, feels so good. You’re so big, baby, fuck, yeah-” 

Jon opens his eyes and stops moving. 

“Can you not- talk like that?” he asks, breathing a laugh. 

Emily narrows her eyes at him. “Sorry.” 

“Oh, c’mon, don’t say sorry.” He starts to roll his hips again and she keeps pointedly quiet and reaches down between her legs. 

It’s hard to feel it at first and then it’s like she remembers how. She shuts her eyes and focuses. Jon feels good, his dick feels good, even if she’s not allowed to say that out loud. Sometimes she thinks Jon would be perfectly happy if she never said a single word while they had sex. He’d probably be happy fucking her through a hole in a sheet. No, that’s not - thinking about that doesn’t help. Thinking about Jon being annoying doesn’t help. 

She huffs a breath and resets. The bed is soft. Jon feels good. They’re in _Hawaii_. They’ve been planning this for months. Emily circles her fingers. 

This time she won’t think about it. This time she’ll only think about Jon. The problem is, trying not to think about it only makes it hotter. She squeezes her eyes shut and draws in a shaking breath and gives in. When she’s alone she usually starts with that first night they met, the way Tommy put her up against the door and slid his hand up her skirt like he knew exactly what kind of girl she was. But she doesn’t have the time tonight, so she goes straight to the best part. 

She thinks about Tommy’s face between her legs. His wide tongue and his- his fucking _mouth_. The way he would lick and lick and lick and then _suck_. Christ. Emily rubs herself harder, feeling Jon pick up the pace. 

Tommy was so good with his mouth. He held her legs open and made her come until her cunt literally hurt. Until she couldn’t even _think_. He made her feel like it was something that was just- happening to her, not something she chose to do. She doesn’t know why she liked that so much but she did. She _does_ , God, she does. She lifts her wet fingers and pulls Jon closer with that hand. 

“Deeper,” she gasps. Tommy got so deep, laid her out flat and made it feel like a pounding. “Please.” 

Jon just grunts and shifts on his elbows, breathless.  

“Yeah,” she mumbles, touching herself again. Okay. She can- she can come like this, if Jon stays just like that and doesn’t say anything. She shuts her eyes hard, wrist starting to ache from rubbing her clit. She always has to do the work. She loves Jon so much, she’s so grateful for him, but sometimes she gets sick of doing all the work. 

Tommy did it all for her. She thrills with that thought, the memory of him fucking her, well-worn in her head from going over it so many times. She didn’t have to do anything except lay there and take it. She didn’t have to think. She didn’t have to be good. He just laid her down and opened her legs and took her pussy and just- he just- 

She whimpers as she comes, back arching, trying not to say his name. _Fuck_. 

Jon doesn’t even open his eyes. His brows are furrowed and his mouth is open. Emily shuts her eyes again, trying to keep feeling it, rubbing her palm over her clit. Sometimes when she’s alone she can ride off the first one and do it again right away. She usually can’t with Jon though, especially if the first one was from thinking about Tommy. She blinks her eyes open and looks at him, his chin and his flushed neck. 

Finally he finishes, gasping and sounding grateful. She opens her mouth when he leans down for a kiss. His face is hot from effort when she puts her hands on it and he says into her mouth, “Love you.” 

She pulls back. “Love you too,” she murmurs, stroking his cheeks. 

Jon kisses her again and then lifts himself up off her, groaning. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, huffing a laugh. “Sorry about the romantic flight delay. And that fucking welcoming committee.”

She laughs too. “It’s okay. It was kinda cute.” 

“It was.” He smiles at her from the doorway to the bathroom. “Those drinks were _strong_.” 

“Oh my god, I know.”

He flicks the light on and goes in. Emily hears the water start running. She shifts on her back, opens her legs a little bit. She’s not even tired anymore. She feels like she could go again. She feels like- _good_. 

“Jon?” she calls, pressing her thighs together. 

He comes out with his toothbrush in his mouth. “Yeah?” he says, muffled. 

Emily looks at him for a minute. “Nothing,” she says eventually. It’s not worth asking. Jon’s not that into oral on the best occasions, he’s not going to want to when she hasn’t showered all day and he’s just brushed his teeth. And she’s fine without it. It’s fine. 

He arches an eyebrow and goes back into the bathroom. She hears him spit and the sink goes on again. She looks up at the ceiling, trying just to feel good. They’re on vacation. They’re in a beautiful resort in fucking Hawaii and they’re about to do nothing but swim and eat and drink and relax for the next week. She’s happy. She shuts her eyes. 

She feels Jon sit on the bed next to her. He smells like mint.

“What’s up?” he says. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” she breathes. “Just tired.” 

“It was a long day.” He lifts the duvet, tugging it from under her legs. “I know this wasn’t the ideal start to our vacation, but. You know. We have the whole week to make up for it.” 

“Mmhm,” she says, pulling the covers up. “It’s fine. I emailed about rescheduling our rez for tomorrow night.” 

“Oh yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Nice. Hope it works out.” He leans over and kisses her cheek. “The bathroom’s nice. Two sinks. I put your bag on one side.” 

“Oh, thanks.”

He flops onto his side and sighs happily. “I love you,” he mumbles, mid-yawn. “Good night.”

“Love you,” she murmurs, reaching over to pet his shoulder. After a minute she gets up and goes to brush her teeth.

She turns the light off as she gets back into bed, carefully sliding under the duvet.

Jon’s already asleep, back to her, and he doesn’t stir when she wriggles her fingers between her closed legs, thighs shifting. As she touches herself the only thing that pops into her head is Tommy, behind her, reaching around to play with her cunt while Jon sleeps. Covering her mouth with his big hand so Jon won’t wake up. God, it’s terrible, it’s disgusting, but it’s so _hot_. It’s so hot and it’s just in her head, it’s all made-up. She’d never actually do it. She can just pretend. She shuts her eyes and muffles a groan.

Behind her Jon says sleepily, “Em? You awake?” 

She goes perfectly still. She can feel her heart beating. 

Jon kisses the back of her shoulder and rolls away again. “G’night,” he mumbles. “Love you.” 

“Night,” she says, taking her fingers away. She lays there for a minute, just breathing, before she wipes her hand on her shirt and reaches for her phone. She turns the screen light all the way down and opens up Instagram. 

Like a sick joke, the first post that pops up is Hanna’s. It’s a picture from their wedding. Tommy’s clutching Hanna’s tiny waist and laughing, face creased with happiness. 

_hannavietor: My valentine, my best friend, the love of my life. I’m so lucky_ ❤️

Emily’s breath catches. She quickly double-taps the photo and then scrolls down. After a minute of scrolling aimlessly, squinting in the dark, she goes back up and looks at it again. 

It’s a beautiful picture. It was such a beautiful wedding. Emily cried with happiness practically the whole ceremony, standing there with the other bridesmaids as Hanna stammered nervously through her vows, Tommy’s face so soft and full of love watching her. She doesn’t really get how she can hold all that in her head, the good stuff, the normal stuff, and then also think about- what happened before. She doesn’t know what makes her so messed-up. All she knows is she has to keep it contained safe in her head where it doesn’t do any harm. She can, most of the time, but that night back in Napa- 

She puts her phone down and rolls onto her stomach, squeezing her eyes shut. Every time she thinks about that night she wants to fucking scream. Tommy hasn’t brought it up since but she knows he remembers. She remembers too. Every pathetic, obvious thing she said. It was like she was a different person. It scares her, because she doesn’t want to be that person again. She wants to be Jon’s wife. She wants to not want anything else, ever. 

She draws in a shaky breath. Jon snores and rolls over, pulling the pillow under his head. Emily looks over at him and reaches out to stroke a hand down his bare arm. 

"Mm?” he mumbles, questioning.

She stays quiet and he sinks back into sleep. 

\---

She’s in the pool with a drink in hand by noon the next day. Jon’s napping on a chaise lounge and the sun is bright and the night before is blissfully forgotten until Emily’s phone chirps with a text. 

“Hand it to me?” she asks, reaching out her hand when Jon stirs at the noise. 

It’s Hanna. Just like that Emily feels a nauseous clench. She sets her drink down and swipes it open. 

_How’s Hawaii? I’m so jealoussss! It’s raining here_

_Tom says we should have all gone together haha. So codependent_

Emily squints at it, sunglasses on, as Jon groans and sits up.

“Hey,” he says groggily. 

Emily forces a smile at him even though her stomach hurts. She hates that feeling so, so much.

“I want one of those,” Jon says, pointing at Emily’s drink.

“Finish mine.” Emily holds it out to him.

“You sure?” 

“Yeah, I kind of have a headache.” 

He makes a sympathetic face. “You do? Shit.” 

She shrugs and looks at her phone again. 

_It’s sooo nice_ , she taps out. _The resort is amazing! You guys should totally stay here when you come._

Jon sucks the last of her mai tai and sets it down. “I’ll get some water,” he says, standing up.

“Thank you, babe,” she says, still staring at her phone.

Finally Hanna sends, _I don’t think we’re gonna do the whole all-inclusive thing! Probably just like a little casita on the beach :)_

Emily rolls her eyes behind her sunglasses and turns her phone over. She looks up as Jon pads over with a water bottle in each hand.

“Here,” he says, handing it down.

“You’re a lifesaver.” 

He eases himself down to sit on the edge of the pool, putting his feet in the water. 

“Pretty nice, huh?” he says, smiling at her. 

_Obviously_ , she wants to say. Sometimes he just fucking- narrates everything. She puts her head on his warm thigh and he slips a hand onto her neck, rubbing gently. It feels good. 

“Yeah,” she says, exhaling, eyes closing. “Yeah, it’s nice.”


End file.
